He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape1 is dead, and I must conjure him.—
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,

That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot
'twould anger

anger him:

To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjured it down;
That were some spite: my invocation

Is fair and honest; and, in his mistress' name,

I conjure only but to raise up him.

him

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those

trees,

To be consorted with the humorous 2 night:

Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.—
O, Romeo, that she were, ah, that she were

An

open et cætera, thou a poprin pear! Romeo, good night :-I'll to my truckle-bed; S This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.

3

This word, in Shakspeare's time, was used as an expression of tenderness

2 For humid.

3 A bed that runs on wheels.

Go, then; for 'tis in vain

Come, shall we go?

Ben.

To seek him here, that means not to be found.

[Exeunt

SCENE II.

Capulet's garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Ro. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.[Juliet appears above, at a window

But, soft! what light through yonder window

breaks ?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it: cast it off.

It is my lady; O, it is my love!

O, that she knew she were !

She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her
eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those

stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven

Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not

night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Ju.

Ro.

Ah me!

She speaks:

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven

Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Ju. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Ro. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

[aside.

Ju. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;-
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes,1
Without that title. Romeo, doff 2 thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Ro.

I take thee at thy word:

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized:

Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Ju. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in

night,

So stumblest on my counsel?

Ro.

By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am.

My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee:

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Ju. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ?

Ro. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

Ju. How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?

The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Ro. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out:

And what love can do, that dares love attempt;

1 Owns, possesses.

2 Do off, lay aside.

Therefore thy kinsmen are no let1 to me.

Ju. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Ro. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

Ju. I would not for the world, they saw thee

here.

Ro. I have night's cloak to hide me from their

sight;

And, but thou love me, let them find me here.
My life were better ended by their hate,

Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

Ju. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

Ro. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire : He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.

I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far

As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,

I would adventure for such merchandise.

Ju. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my

face;

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form; fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know, thou wilt say-Ay; And I will take thy word yet, if thou swear'st, • Thou mayst prove false: at lovers' perjuries,